Galanthus
by ProcrastinatingPalindrome
Summary: Lithuania learns to hate sunflowers, and finds a little hope hidden in the snow. Russia/Lithuania


Lithuania leaned back in the chair behind Russia's desk and stared at the bouquet of plastic sunflowers in the window, faintly illuminated by the streetlights outside and the single lit lamp in the office. Plastic flowers were just fine, in his opinion, if they replaced real ones for the sake of convenience, but here they seemed like the saddest thing in the world. Here they were a sorry replacement for the real ones that Russia couldn't have in the winter, still placed in the windowsill as though he hoped that maybe the sun could turn dead plastic into living flowers. He hated to look at them, that miserable mockery and strained hope of something impossible.

If he had the choice, he wouldn't have been sitting at Russia's desk at 2:57 in the morning, shaking his head from time to time to keep himself awake, but he had to wait for a phone call. He wasn't allowed a phone at his own desk (Russia didn't trust him enough for that), but there were four phones lined up on the dark wood of Russia's antique desk. It was the bulky gray one that would ring, any moment now, and he had to be there to answer it.

The sharp, metallic ring suddenly pierced the early morning silence, and Lithuania snatched the phone off its cradle before the first ring had faded. He didn't have time for even a simple 'hello' before the voice on the other end spoke.

"Send someone for Comrade Braginski. He isn't able to walk home." The voice lacked even the slightest doubt that this order would be obeyed, and held no sympathy for the man it spoke on behalf of. It was a cold voice, and one Lithuania heard far too often these days.

"O-of course. Right away, sir," Lithuania stammered into the mouth piece, and waited until he heard the 'click' on the other end before setting the phone back down and folding his hands together tightly to crush out the faint tremble that was growing in them. He was never really prepared to deal with that man, even over the phone. Somehow, he doubted anyone ever was.

The dread the voice had invoked in him hadn't fully faded yet, but there wasn't any time to wait for that. The man he had spoken to had no patience for delays. He snatched his coat off the back of the chair and laced on the boots he had taken off while waiting for the phone. It had been snowing almost all night, and the fresh snow had piled on top of the blanket of white that already covered the ground. Before he started living with Russia, he would have considered it a pretty heavy snow, but years of living in that colder climate made the drift look relatively mild to him now. Still, it would be difficult to walk through, especially considering he would probably be half-dragging Russia on the way back.

He tiptoed down the dark hall, careful to walk quietly past Estonia and Latvia's bedrooms. He could have woken them up, asked them to help, but he never did, not for this. Russia had never actually asked Lithuania to bring him home when he couldn't manage on his own after these late-night 'dinner parties,' as he called them, but somehow the task had fallen onto Lithuania without anyone ever saying a word about it. It wasn't entirely surprising. Russia went to great lengths to avoid showing any real weakness in front of others, but Lithuania seemed to be the exception to this. He was allowed to see Russia when the huge nation was frightened and miserable and fragile, and he would be allowed to see him now too, when he was broken by something Lithuania almost couldn't put a name to.

The snow had slowed almost to a stop by the time he got outside, but the sharp winter wind had picked up. Lithuania hunched his shoulders against the cold and broke into a jog. The dacha he was heading for was a good twenty minutes away by foot, and he wanted to get the errand over with as quickly as possible. The street lamps dotted the way like a line of tiny orange suns, bright in the inky dark, and turned the bare, skeletal trees into long, twisting shadows. He was out of breath when he arrived at the house, windows still glowing even at that strange hour. The light might have looked warm from another house, but it only seemed ominous to Lithuania. He had to take a few deep breaths before walking up and rapping his knuckles against the door.

The young guard who answered frowned at him briefly before recognition passed over his eyes.

"Toris Lorinaitis, yes?"

"Yes, I'm here-"

"To take Comrade Braginski home, I know," the young man said, and there was a dark note in his voice. Perhaps he found this whole situation as disgusting as Lithuania did. "He's the last guest here, but he usually is. The others never last as long as he does." He glanced around nervously for a moment, before dropping his voice to just above a whisper, "I pity him for that."

"As do I," Lithuania replied in that same soft voice. "All the more reason I want to take him back home as soon as I can. Will you let me inside?"

The guard stepped to the side to let Lithuania pass, and grabbed his shoulder to stop him when he kept walking.

"They're in the dining room, as always. Do you need me to show you the way?"

"No, I've come here so often lately...I could almost walk there in my sleep."

"And...are you alright going alone? Do you want me to accompany you?"

"No, thank you. I'll be fine," Lithuania said, smiling slightly in reassurance.

"You are a brave man, comrade," the young guard said, shaking his head slightly as Lithuania continued down the hall. He wasn't feeling very brave at all in that moment, but he couldn't very well turn back. No, he would be fine. He just had to keep calm and be polite, and nothing would go wrong. Nothing...

The door to the dining room had been left ajar, and Lithuania knocked on the frame to announce his presence. The room wasn't very well lit, but the evidence of what had taken place was still visible. There were a good number of chairs around the table, but most were pulled out or even knocked over. The guard had been right; all the other guests had left already. Empty vodka bottles and shot glasses littered the table, and a few had fallen and shattered on the floor. Even in the low light he could see a puddle near the foot of a chair; spilled vodka or vomit, and considering the grotesquely heavy drinking that he knew had gone on, it could have been either. He was careful to step around it, and turned his attention to the two men who remained. Russia sat on the far side of the table, slumped in his chair like a wilted flower. His head was lolled forward, and Lithuania was seriously starting to doubt that he was even still conscious. Russia's boss sat at the head of the table, watching Lithuania with eyes that pierced even in the gloom. He looked sharp and alert, every bit as sober as he was when he appeared before the public.

"Good...good morning, Comrade Stalin," Lithuania said faintly, fighting to keep the polite smile from slipping off his face. Just stay calm, nothing will go wrong...

Russia's boss continued to stare at Lithuania until the Baltic nation felt sick to his stomach with fear, before turning to Russia with a mocking smile.

"Now see this, Braginski? Your friend has come to help you. What loyal companions you have! You are very lucky."

"Very lucky..." Russia echoed thickly, not bothering to look up. He hadn't passed out this time, Lithuania noticed with relief. It was a small blessing.

"You always come so quickly when I call," Stalin noted approvingly to Lithuania. "A good thing for Braginski, yes? He always gets too drunk to walk home after dining with me. No stomach for vodka."

That was a lie if Lithuania had ever heard one. Russia's alcohol tolerance went far beyond that of a normal human, but even he had limits. It took a great deal of vodka to get him even slightly drunk...how much would he need to drink to get like this? The huge nation was habitually tipsy, but he was rarely drunk beyond the point of control. Lithuania had known Russia long enough to know that he hated, even feared to lose control over something, especially himself. He wouldn't have surrendered that precious control so lightly by carelessly drinking this far beyond his limits.

But it wasn't worth the risk of accidentally provoking the man's violent temper by arguing that point, so Lithuania just smiled and nodded and tried to not walk too quickly as he made his way over to Russia.

"You are...like him, yes?" Stalin said, as Lithuania tried to help Russia stand.

"How do you mean, sir?" Lithuania asked, a bit distracted with his task.

"Not human. He doesn't age, survives things that kill men...not human, yes? And you are the same. I can feel it about you."

It wasn't surprising that Russia's boss would know about the countries, but it still caught him off guard. It made him nervous, to think that he had drawn that man's attention. Russia's boss didn't seem too threatening at that moment, but you could never forget what he was capable of. Once you knew, you never forgot.

"Y-You're exactly right, sir," he answered at last, because what else could he say? Luckily enough, that seemed to be the right answer, because the man just nodded thoughtfully and waved his hand, allowing the two countries to leave at last. Lithuania wrapped an arm around Russia's waist to keep him upright and started to guide him towards the door.

"How fortunate you are, to never grow old. How very fortunate," Russia's boss said quietly as the two countries shuffled their way out. Lithuania pretended not to hear. The relief washed over him as they stepped into the hall, beyond that man's sharp eyes. For a second, he lost his grip on Russia, who stumbled into a decorative table, nearly knocking over a vase of mimosas.

"I'm sorry, R-...Comrade Braginski," he gasped, trying to steady Russia, who suddenly didn't seem so off balance. To Lithuania's surprise, he turned to the table and pushed the vase back into it's original place with more delicacy than a drunk man would normally have. His hand brushed against a leaf for a second, and it instantly flinched away from his touch. Something painful flashed behind his eyes, but it was gone so quickly that Lithuania almost thought he imagined it.

They continued down the hall, past the guard who nodded politely at them both and gave Lithuania a pitying smile. The door clicked shut behind them, and Russia suddenly straightened. He had been leaning heavily against Lithuania, his head drooping like a sleep walker. Now that he was out of sight of his boss and the guard, he seemed to awaken a little. Only a little, though; he was still staggering and swaying a little with each step, but he seemed able to keep himself upright without help.

"He is slipping," Russia slurred, gesturing meaninglessly. "I pretend to be more drunk than I am so he'll let me leave, and he doesn't notice. He would have noticed, before. He would have made me drink more for my disobedience."

Lithuania risked a glance up at the other nation's face. The alcohol had colored his cheeks and dulled his eyes, but he didn't look nearly as bad as usual. Lithuania had seen him much worse. Sometimes he was made to drink until he was sick, and Lithuania could smell the vomit on him, see the stains on his coat and boots. They usually had to stop several times on the way home for him to be sick again, heaving up everything in his stomach until it was just bile. Sometimes Russia's boss waited until the country had actually passed out before calling Lithuania. He couldn't carry Russia back on his own, and usually had to call someone with a car to take them home. But perhaps the worst was when Russia was still awake, and his eyes were bloodshot from more than just alcohol. On those nights, his boss didn't even bother with false smiles and pleasantries as they left; he just looked at Russia like the country was a bug. On those nights, Russia was silent on their way home, except for a shudder in each breath that he couldn't seem to stop.

It was a game, though Lithuania didn't understand the rules. He only understood that Russia, powerful, strong, often frightening Russia was unable to defy his boss, even on trivial things. Stalin looked small when he stood next to his massive country, but Russia was almost helpless against that short, terrible man. If his boss told him to send thousands upon thousands to die in the Gulag camps, he would. If his boss told him to keep taking his sister's grain until famine tightened around her like a noose, he would. And if his boss kept pouring him more and more vodka and told him to drink...

There was a very fine line between the way that man was cruel and the way Russia was. Stalin's cruelty was cold, brutal, unfeeling, broken glass and razor blades. But for all his power and influence, Russia's boss had grown older; Lithuania could see the gray in his hair, the sagging in his face. He needed to remind Russia who was powerful and who was not, and so he made the country drink until he was sick, broken, humiliated. There was no compassion in that cruelty, no reason except to crumble one person before another.

Russia's cruelty was warm, poisonously sweet, filled with good intentions, or at least ones that Russia believed in. Russia believed that he needed to keep the Baltics close to him for their own well-being. He believed Lithuania needed to be punished for his various transgressions, that it would teach him things that couldn't be put into words. And he would be better for it, wouldn't he? Yes, of course. Lithuania would suffer and Russia would suffer, but one day their trials would be rewarded. One day it would all pay off, and they would be very happy then. It was terrible to think that Russia actually believed in such a thing, but Lithuania could see the feverish, desperate hope light up his violet eyes when he spoke about the future. His cruelty was twisted, tainted with some kind of broken kindness that made him apologize and cradle Lithuania in his arms after the blows stopped.

It was such a fine line, a hair-line fracture between a frigid cruelty and a warm one, but it was the difference between hate and love. It had to be love that he felt now, as he put his arm securely around the larger nation and helped him walk home. What else but love could make him look past the terrible things Russia had done? Not forgive, because there are some things that can never really be forgiven, but at least to look past the cruelty to see the heart behind it all. Nothing less than love could push him that far. Nothing less could make his heart ache when Russia cried or flutter when he truly smiled. It was a hopeless thing, this fragile love that had somehow grown within him. The world was too cold for such a love; it would soon shrivel and die.

Lithuania was suddenly aware of how chilly it had gotten. He wasn't able to move as quickly as he did earlier, not while he was supporting Russia, and the wind had picked up again, thoroughly numbing his ears and nose. The street still stretched on before them, but he could see lights flickering distantly through the woods on their left, in the direction of Russia's house.

"I think there's a shortcut, through the fir trees," he said, pointing to a place whether the brush seemed less thick, and when Russia said nothing in protest, Lithuania shifted their trek off the road and into the trees. The drift was noticeably deeper off the road, and their feet crunched through the damp snow. The woods were a great deal darker than he had excepted, without the streetlights to light the way. The much needed moonlight was blocked by the trees.

"I need him, you know," Russia mumbled as they shuffled along, more to himself than to Lithuania. "He-he knows what's best for me, da? And he's been right before...aren't I stronger now? I listen to him and now I am stronger. I need to remember these things. I forget, and he must remind me. I need to remember to be like the sunflowers. They always turn to the sun, and I must always turn to what gives me strength. This is right, is it not?"

Lithuania couldn't answer, and clenched his jaw. More and more, he hated to hear about the sunflowers.

Russia had always been this way, desperately searching for something, someone to believe in. He wanted to be like the sunflowers he loved, always turning his head to the sun, but he needed a sun to turn to. And what could he do, when there _was_ no sun for him to follow? Russia was like a sunflower without a sun, desperately turning his head toward anything that seemed bright and warm. A raging fire was bright and warm, and he would turn towards that glow even as it charred him down to the root.

Russia clung to Lithuania too, as though the smaller country could be his sun, and it _hurt_ somehow to know that he couldn't. All Lithuania could do for Russia was help pick up the pieces after something broke him, and Russia was constantly being broken and mended up again. He could never stop Russia from being hurt in the first place. He was no sun. He was as bad as those plastic sunflowers in Russia's office, an imitation of something stronger.

The sunflowers were everything Russia thought he needed to be, everything he wanted and could never have. To be strong enough to keep chasing after the sun. To live in a warm place, and Lithuania knew that 'warm' meant more than the weather to Russia. They were the frantic yearning that consumed him. They were a wish that could never come true.

Suddenly, irrationally, Lithuania hated those flowers, for always being beyond Russia reach. There could be no flowers in his cold world, not the tall sunflowers he loved, or the tentative emotion growing in Lithuania's heart. The cold would make everything wither. Surely there was nothing, not flowers or love, that could survive in such a place for long.

"Look..."

Lithuania was jerked back to reality when Russia abruptly stopped walking. They had come to a clearing, and the light of the full moon illuminated the ground before them. Russia was pointing at something in the snow, and pulled away from Lithuania's supportive arm to get a closer look. Lithuania slowly crept forward to investigate, squinting in the faint light the moon provided. Russia had tried to kneel, but toppled over and ended up sitting in the snow. Strangely, he didn't seem to mind at all; he was too captivated by what he had found. Lithuania's breath caught in his chest as he finally realized what they were looking at.

There were flowers, small white flowers, growing right up out of the snow. It wasn't just one or two; there must have been a hundred, clustered together as if to support each other from the cold. The flowers dangled off their stems like delicate, white bells.

"Snowdrops!" Lithuania whispered, kneeling down next to Russia. How could they grow in such cold weather? He had heard of the snowdrops growing in winter, sometimes even through the snow, but it still seemed like something impossible. These flowers bloomed in the snow as naturally as other flowers grew in warm earth.

"Aren't they beautiful?" Russia muttered quietly, his eyes softening as he looked at the flowers. "And what strong little flowers, to grow even in the snow. They look so delicate, but see how strong they are, to survive and bloom out here."

"They are," Lithuania agreed, turning to look at the larger country. The gentle look on Russia's face was more beautiful than the flowers.

"There is a fairytale about these flowers," Russia continued. "A child is sent out in winter to gather snowdrops by her cruel stepmother. And the spirits of the year help her to find them...flowers growing in the snow. She would have died, if she didn't find those flowers. Ah, then the snowdrops are like Lithuania," Russia said quietly, a sad smile playing across his face. He reached out to touch them, and unlike the mimosas, the flowers didn't recoil when his fingers brushed the petals.

"I...thank you, but no," Lithuania stammered, feeling his face heat up. What did that even mean? So Russia was the child in the fairy tale, and Lithuania was the precious flowers the child was searching for... "I-I thought they were more like _you_, Russia."

"Lithuania is teasing me. I don't look delicate." Lithuania opened his mouth to apologize for that part, but Russia continued, his voice turning bitter. "And I am not strong, not in the ways that truly matter. And of course I am not beautiful."

"You're wrong," Lithuania said quietly, and there was something wonderful about the way Russia's eyes slowly widened as he realized that Lithuania was saying. Lithuania had learned a long time ago that actions could say far more than simple words, and he leaned forward to kiss Russia lightly on the forehead. The larger country made a little noise of surprise and tensed up, so Lithuania let his lips trail over to Russia's temple, and then down to his cheek and finally over to his mouth, where they stayed until he felt Russia melting against him.

This was impossible, what was happening between them, a love between a broken man and his prisoner. That kind of story never had a happy ending. It couldn't last, and Lithuania couldn't stay with Russia forever. He wouldn't. He wouldn't allow that to happen, for himself and for his people. One day, the opportunity would arise for him to leave, and when that happened he _would_ leave, without a moment's hesitation. It was no way to live, for either of them; one smothered under a suffocating love, the other desperately clinging like a drowning man to a piece of wood. But after, if they were both still alive after everything fell down, then...then maybe something could happen. When Lithuania could stand on his own again, and when Russia could learn how to live without chasing after the sun, something real might blossom between them.

Something as impossible as flowers growing in the snow.

The next morning, the plastic sunflowers were in the trash can. Russia might have been angry about Lithuania doing such a thing on his own, but he doubted the larger country would stay mad when he saw the snowdrops Lithuania had replaced them with.

They were hope. They were a promise.

Historical (and Floral) Notes:

Stalin really did use to have these 'dinner parties' with the men he worked with, which often involved forcing everyone to drink until they completely, disgustingly drunk while Stalin himself drank water and watched the others humiliate themselves. Foreign diplomats had sometimes gotten this treatment in the past, but Stalin didn't really start making this a regular thing with his cabinet until later in his life, when he became even more dangerous and unpredictable than he was before. Molotov and Khrushchev were later reported to describe those dinners with Stalin as 'frightening.' Basically, everyone was scared of Stalin. Also, Stalin feared growing old and liked to garden (mimosas were some of his favorites. Mimosas fold their leaves when they're touched.)

Snowdrops grow in late winter and early spring, and very often grow in the snow. They are regarded as a symbol of hope, since snowdrops are a sign that spring will be coming soon. In the language of the flowers, they mean hope and consolation. Galanthus is the genus of about 20 species, all of which are commonly called snowdrops.


End file.
